Page 108 of In Love With Mr. Wrong

Grayson flips something in the pan with the exaggerated confidence of a man pretending not to Google ‘how to know when cheese is melty enough.’ He turns toward me with a crooked grin.

“She’s asleep?”

“For now,” I whisper.

“Then we dine.”

He plates two sandwiches and brings them over to the coffee table. I ease myself down onto the couch, still cradling Evie, and Grayson grabs a few pillows to prop under my arm.

The first bite tastes like butter and relief. We sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the rustle of the blanket, the hum of the city outside, and the occasional sleepy sigh from Evie.

“She smells like vanilla and something magical,” Grayson says quietly.

I glance at him over my sandwich. “That’s probably the lavender laundry detergent.”

He leans in, brushing a kiss to Evie’s forehead. “Nah. She’s just enchanted.”

***

After I’ve managed to eat with one hand and a fair amount of grace, I pass Evie to Grayson so I can stretch. He lifts her with the care of a man holding a miracle, his hand sliding gently behind her neck.

“I’ll take her for a lap,” he says, already pacing the length of the living room like he’s training for a sleep-deprived marathon.

I smile and reach for my tea on the side table. It’s lukewarm, but I drink it anyway. There’s something comforting in the ritual of it, the familiar scent, the warm cup in my hands, the sense that this is my life now, and it’s not just okay, it’s wonderful.

Grayson hums as he walks, a low, aimless tune that I vaguely recognize from a playlist we made in our early days together. Something about it fills the space with a kind of peace I didn’t know we’d earned.

“She’s got your nose,” he says over his shoulder.

“She’s got your drama.”

He turns and grins. “Hey, if she grows up with a flair for the theatrical, we’ll know who to thank.”

We laugh quietly. The kind of laugh that doesn’t want to wake the baby but still finds its way into the air.

As the afternoon slides gently forward, the three of us end up on the balcony. The city stretches out around us, glass and steel catching the sun in dazzling flashes. I sit curled in the patio chair, a lightweight blanket draped over my legs, while Grayson rocks Evie in his arms and leans against the railing.

“She’s going to grow up here,” I say softly. “In this city, in this world we built.”

“She’s going to run this city,” he replies, glancing down at her with the kind of expression that undoes me. “I can already see it.”

I tuck my legs underneath me and rest my head on the back of the chair. “Do you think we’ll ever be those people again? The ones who went to war over a company and accidentally got married in Vegas?”

He smiles. “I think we’ll always be those people. But now we’re more. Stronger. Softer. Definitely smellier.”

I laugh, wiping at my eye. “It’s strange. All those things I thought I’d lose, my independence, my identity, my ambition, I haven’t lost them. They’ve just… shifted.”

Grayson comes to sit beside me, Evie cradled in his arms like a secret. “You’re still you, Margot. You’re just evolving. And if you ever forget who you are, I’ll remind you. With a PowerPoint.”

I nudge him with my foot. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He grins. “You’re right. That’s your domain.”

We sit like that for a long time, just breathing. The breeze flutters the edge of the blanket. Evie sleeps between us now, nestled into the curve of a pillow Grayson rigged from his hoodie. Neither of us speaks for a while. There’s nothing to say and everything to feel.

Eventually, he brushes his thumb across the top of her head and says, “She has no idea what we went through to get here.”

“She doesn’t have to,” I reply. “She just has to know that she’s loved.”

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